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by jujus_writing_corner



Series: Troubled Kids AU [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Adoption, Also Dark cries a lot, Alternate Universe - High School, And the entire public school system, Backstory, Bullying, Dark and Will attempt to fight the entire foster care system, Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Eric is babey, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Foster Care, Found Family, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, They are filled with nothing but love and righteous anger in this fic, Troubled Kids AU, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujus_writing_corner/pseuds/jujus_writing_corner
Summary: Damien Goldheart is the principal of Goldheart's School for Troubled Children, an alternative high school founded by his aunt Celine. But after spending so long looking after children, he and his husband Wilford decide they want one of their own.That's how they find Eric, a nervous teenager in desperate need of a family who actually cares. And Damien and Wilford are determined to give him that, no matter what.
Relationships: Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache
Series: Troubled Kids AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658014
Comments: 20
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of an AU I've been working on for a while, and I'm really excited about it! I'm writing everyone's backstories to start off, and this is Dark, Wil, and Eric's. All three of them are BEANS, I love them ;w;
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :D

Goldheart’s School for Troubled Children is a private high school designed to educate children of difficult backgrounds and accommodate their unique needs. The faculty all have vast education and experience in special education, and the hiring process is extremely selective to ensure that the students are taught by the best teachers available. The school is run by Damien Goldheart, who took over the school after its founder and Damien’s aunt, Celine Goldheart, retired. Despite Damien’s formal and intimidating appearance, he’s passionate about the school and its mission and compassionate towards its students. He’s no-nonsense and strict regarding discipline, yet kind and understanding towards students who need it. His approach earns him the respect and admiration of even the most troubled students, though it has also earned him the nickname “Dark” for his coldness.

The student population is diverse, owing to their earlier mentioned difficult backgrounds: Many have experienced abuse, homelessness, juvenile detention, or other traumatic experiences, and/or struggle with mental illness, behavioral problems, and/or developmental disorders. Some have attended public middle and elementary school, others have been homeschooled or did not go to school at all. Many have spent months or years in conventional high schools before it proved to not be the best fit. When a student enters the school, their guardian or guardians provide the school with information regarding the student’s diagnoses, current level of education, observed difficulties, any triggers they may have, and other information relevant to creating an educational plan for them. Though students are expected to get their assigned work done, deadlines tend to be longer and looser if it benefits the student. Discipline is similarly more lenient, but not nonexistent. Damien is well-practiced in walking the fine line of being understanding of his students’ difficulties and giving discipline when it’s necessary. Though he doesn’t play favorites, he has a keen understanding of which students require more gentle interaction.

One of these students just happens to be Damien’s own son.

~~~

“Wil?” Damien asked one Saturday evening, sitting on the couch, a book laying forgotten on his lap.

“Yes, darling?” replied Damien’s husband, Wilford Warfstache, from beside him on the couch, firing off a last-minute work email on his phone.

Though the pair didn’t take each other’s names – Wilford’s last name is part of his Warfstache Studios brand, and Damien’s last name is likewise inseparably connected to his school – they’ve been married for quite some time and wouldn’t trade each other for the world. They live comfortably thanks mostly to Wilford’s work as a studio head and TV producer, and have wanted for nothing.

That is, until that evening, as Damien pondered his next words. He did smile lightly when Wilford turned his head to kiss Damien’s cheek, but it faded as his brows furrowed.

“Wil, have you ever…” Damien began, “Have you ever thought about having children?”

A pause. Wilford blinked, then grinned.

“This is because of the twins, isn’t it?” Wilford asked.

Said twins, RJ and CJ, had recently moved out of their home after their guardian and older brother Bim finally got the money to move them into a new place. The three spent years living in Damien and Wilford’s home, and the twins would likely be entering Goldheart’s in a couple years or so. They’re of no relation to Damien and Wilford, but they found a home with the couple thanks to their terrible situation and Damien and Wilford’s big hearts.

“Yes,” Damien admitted, “They’re wonderful boys, and…after running Goldheart’s for so long and working for those children, I suppose I’d like to come home to children, too.”

“Children or child?” Wilford asked, raising an eyebrow. “The twins were a handful and a half.”

“Just one, I think.” Damien grinned. “I suppose that means you’re on board?”

“Of course!” Wilford exclaimed, “Kids are great! They’re so sweet and cute and their clothes are so small…”

“You make it sound like we’re getting a dog,” Damien said wryly, “Children, even one child, are a great deal more difficult. Though I would like to adopt a younger one, if we can.”

“That’d be nice.” Wilford nodded thoughtfully. “I knew you’d want to adopt.”

“Well, what’s the point of surrogacy when there’s so many children already out there in need of homes?” Damien thought for a moment. “Can we agree to adopt a boy? I’m not sure we know enough to raise a girl.”

“What, you have your Aunt Celine, don’t you?”

“You think we talk about things like that? Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble her. She’s too old to worry about raising her nephew’s kid.”

“I say she’s spry enough to handle it, but you have a point. Boy it is.” Wilford smiled, warm and gentle, and wrapped his arms around Damien, pulling him close. “I can already imagine it. We find the cutest little boy in the whole world, we take him home and give him everything, and he can sit right here on this couch with us, maybe even go to your school, or work in the studio one day…”

“I suppose we’ll see,” Damien replied softly, settling against Wilford’s chest. “Whoever he is, I…I hope we make him happy.”

“I know we will,” Wilford said with his signature confidence, loudly kissing Damien’s cheek. Damien pretended to protest, but soon relaxed back into his hold, and the pair laid against the couch wrapped up in each other. Damien closed his eyes, letting the sleepiness of the Saturday evening take hold.

Neither spoke again until Wilford took out his phone.

“Wilford Warfstache.” Damien said, not opening his eyes. “You better not be about to send another work email.”

“Oh, come on, Dames! I’m just putting out fires, you know how it is.”

“It’s Saturday evening, Wil, almost Saturday night. Let the managers handle it.”

“You think I can trust them with anything??”

“Then why did you hire them?”

_“Ugh._ Fine. I’ll tell them no more interruptions, I swear.”

“I’ll believe you if you ignore your phone for the rest of the night.”

“Deal.”

Wilford kissed Damien’s cheek again, and Damien smiled again, eyes still closed, mind still imaging their future son.

~~~

Throughout the process of finding a reputable agency, being interviewed, and having their home examined, Damien often wondered what the child they chose might look like. He and Wilford were not so shallow as to ask or look for certain physical traits, but he still couldn’t help but wonder. Would their little boy be a chubby toddler, or a skinny first-grader, or big for his age? Would his hair be short and buzzed down, or fluffy and wild? Would it be deep black, lovely brown, bright blonde, or flaming red? Would his eyes be blue, green, brown, hazel, or even something else? What would his smile look like? What would his laugh sound like? What would the boy himself _be_ like? Damien couldn’t think about that question very long, the possibilities were too many to consider. And both Damien and Wilford knew that once they saw a child they wanted, they wouldn’t be able to change their minds.

Once they were ready to look through profiles of children, the agency representative (a sweet young woman named Katy who’d walked them through the whole process so far) sat with them in a small conference room with a portfolio of kids. They flipped through pages of chubby-cheeked toddlers and freckled first-graders, some smiling for the camera, some sullen and frowning. Some of them tugged at Damien and Wilford’s hearts, but none _pulled._

“Okay,” Katy said three-fourths of the way through the packet, “I know you’re looking for a younger kid, but there’s an older boy I wanted to show you.”

“Sure, why not?” Wilford replied breezily. Damien nodded.

“Great!” Katy exclaimed, flipping the page.

Staring at Damien and Wilford from the page was a frail, skinny thirteen-year-old with a fluffy mop of dark hair and a pair of glasses over his big brown eyes. There was no smile, but the boy didn’t look angry, only nervous, even afraid.

_Name: Eric_

_Age: 13_

_Fostered since age 10._

“What happened?” Wilford asked, eyes trained on the last bit.

“Well, his birth home was horrendous,” Katy said, “I never saw it, but to hear the removal team tell it, the building was so run-down and filthy that it wasn’t fit for even one person, let alone twelve.”

_“Twelve!?”_ Wilford cried, eyes bugging out of his head. Katy nodded gravely.

“Eleven boys, including Eric, and their father,” Katy explained. “There’s actually five more brothers, but they’d already grown and moved out by the time the younger ones were removed.”

“And no mom?”

“No, sadly. According to the father, she died after Eric was born.” She sighed a little, something she always seemed to do before explaining a child’s sad history. “We have reason to believe that the father was abusive to Eric, but none of the children would admit it, including Eric himself. But he has all the traits of an abused child.”

“Poor kid. But the others…didn’t?”

“Well, it’s clear they all lived in a bad home environment, but none of them are as bad off as Eric. We believe the father turned the other children against him. We didn’t receive all the children, but the ones we did we kept together in fostering at first. But the others bullied Eric to such an extent that we had to separate him from them for his own safety. Some of them were adopted by the older brothers acting as guardians, but none of them wanted Eric.”

“Fuck…” Wilford blinked, realizing what he’d said. “Oh, sorry, I’m not supposed to swear here, am I?”

“It’s alright,” Katy assured him kindly, “These things are hard to hear. I also should tell you that he has no legs below the knee due to a birth defect. He’s worn prosthetics his whole life, so he generally has no difficulty getting around, but it is something to be aware of. We were able to replace his prosthetics when we removed him, but he’s still a growing boy, and he’s a bit overdue for new ones again. We don’t currently have the funds necessary to replace them right now, unfortunately, and neither does his foster mother.”

Wilford considered this, brows furrowed as he looked at Eric’s photo.

“I’ve met Eric a few times,” Katy continued, “And he’s such a sweet boy. He’s very timid, as you might imagine, but he has such a big heart. He’s already been in foster care for a few years, as you can see, and I’ve seen other kids in his shoes give up on ever finding a home. But Eric hasn’t. He may not look it, but he has a strong spirit.” Katy’s smile faltered just a little. “That said, he does have issues to overcome. He’s been diagnosed with PTSD and social anxiety, and he seems to be triggered by yelling, and by people moving in a way that suggests they might hit or grab him. He has very little confidence in himself, and that on top of his social anxiety makes it hard for him to connect with other kids. His foster mother says he doesn’t have any friends, not even among her own kids or other kids she's fostering. But I’m sure he can blossom under the right environment, if someone decides to take a chance on him.” She paused, then smiled gently. “Of course, there’s no pressure to choose him. We have plenty of kids available in need of permanent homes, as you’ve seen, and still more of this portfolio to look through. Are you ready to keep going?”

Instead of answering, Wilford looked to Damien, who’d been silent the entire time. He’d been staring at Eric’s photo, soaking in the information about him and his past, tears gathering in his eyes. Wilford touched his arm, and Damien gasped, blinking, as though Wilford had brought him out of a trance. A few tears escaped and began to roll down his cheeks. Damien had been waiting for a child to pull at him, and looking at Eric, Damien felt his heart yank out of his chest to sit on the table.

“Wil,” he whispered, “He’s the one.”

Wilford’s eyes shone, too, and he lifted a hand to Damien’s cheek, brushing away his tears.

“He is, isn’t he?” Wilford replied, smiling gently. He looked to Katy. “We don’t need to see any others.”

“How soon can we meet him?” Damien asked, tears still leaking.

“What’s a good time for you next week?” Katy asked, positively beaming.


	2. Chapter 2

The Saturday morning of the meeting, Damien was a nervous wreck, running around his and Wilford’s room like a headless chicken as Wilford waited to Damien to calm down.

“Dames, sweetness, you need to relax,” Wilford said with an amused grin.

“How can I _relax?”_ Damien cried, stopping his pacing to whirl on Wilford. “We’re about to meet our future son! The boy we’re going to raise, the boy we’re going to love for the rest of our lives!! But he won’t be our son if he doesn’t like us, what if he doesn’t like us? Katy said he was anxious and timid, what if we scare him?” Damien looked down at his outfit, gray button-up and red tie and khakis. “I know a suit would be too formal, but this doesn’t feel formal _enough,_ I don’t want Eric to think I’m not taking this seriously but I don’t want to intimidate him–”

“Since when do you not want to be intimidating?” Wilford asked wryly. He was wearing his favorite outfit, rainbow suspenders and all, and had been ready to go for the past ten minutes. Fortunately, they’d gotten up with plenty of time, and weren’t in any danger of running late.

“This is serious, Wilford!!” Damien shouted.

“I know that,” Wilford replied, “I care about this as much as you do, believe you me. But panicking won’t make it any easier.”

“Easy for you to say,” Damien muttered, “You never panic about anything.”

“You haven’t seen me in the studio in the five minutes before we go live,” Wilford chuckled. He reached out to take Damien’s hands, and Damien let him. “Take a breath, love. It’ll be great! Haven’t we spent the last few days just waiting for this moment?”

“Yes,” Damien admitted, finally smiling a little. “We have.”

“Then let’s _go!_ I’ve been waiting for us to go for the last half hour!”

“You definitely haven’t been waiting that long, Wil.”

“Well, it sure felt like it. I’ll drive, you calm down on the way.”

“I’ll try, love.”

The drive to Eric’s foster home wasn’t a terribly long one, but it sure felt like it. Damien did manage to calm himself down, but thoughts continued to churn in his mind. He still worried about scaring Eric, still worried about overwhelming him. He’d been thinking about that photo of Eric, that fearful, sad-eyed portrait, ever since he saw it. He kept looking over at Wilford, and for all his bravado and encouragement earlier, Damien could tell Wilford was nervous, too. His fingers tapped the steering wheel and his leg bounced when they were stopped at red lights.

But finally, they arrived – still fifteen minutes early, but neither seemed willing to wait any longer. They held each other’s hand tight as they walked up to the nondescript little house that Eric supposedly lived with his foster mother. The place looked normal enough; the lawn was well-manicured, and the house itself, while small, looked maintained and cozy. Damien and Wilford had parked on the street as instructed, and there was a short driveway with a blue-green van sitting in it. A skinny stone path led from the mailbox to the front door, and that’s where Damien and Wilford went.

They looked at each other, squeezed each other’s hand, and Wilford used his free hand to ring the doorbell.

“Tammy, it’s the _door!!”_ a little girl shouted, almost indignant, from inside.

Just like that, the tension broke, and Damien and Wilford both started laughing. They were still chuckling when the door opened and they were greeted by a jovial-looking woman with a baby on her hip.

“Well, hello then, you must be Damien Warfstache and Wilford Goldheart,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “Oh dear, that’s not right, is it? I’m so sorry. Mom brain, you know, it’s been quite a morning.” She moved the baby from one hip to the other. “Oof, you’re getting chunkier every day, little man!” The baby gurgled happily.

“Yes, I’m Damien,” Damien answered while Wilford was busy trying not to snicker too hard. “And this is Wilford. You’re Tammy, then?”

“Yes, I guess you heard Marta back there,” Tammy laughed, though she seemed less excited than before. “Quite the yeller, that girl. This one’s mine,” she said regaining her joy as she gave the baby on her hip a bounce, earning a gummy smile. “But you’re here about Eric. He’ll be in his room, he’s very quiet, but we can chat first. Come in, come in!”

Wilford and Damien did go in, and spent a while talking to Tammy at her kitchen table. They did see Marta, a tiny little girl with bobbed hair, who stared at them curiously before darting off to play elsewhere. They learned that the baby in Tammy’s arms was Tyler, and that she had a seven-year-old named Harry currently at a friend’s house and a sixteen-year-old named Kyle currently at his part-time job, and that Kyle would probably be home soon. Other than Marta and Eric, another boy Eric’s age named Peter was also there as a foster, in the same room as Eric. Damien couldn’t help but feel odd at how long it took them to get Tammy to talk about Eric, and how the house seemed awfully small for so many people, and how much Tammy seemed to much prefer talking about her own kids to the fosters and had better things to say about them, too. According to her, Marta was loud and willful, Peter was sullen and cruel, and Eric was nervous and introverted.

“He’s quiet, thank goodness, Lord knows this house is loud enough most days,” Tammy sighed, “But he hardly ever leaves his room! His teachers keep telling me other kids are picking on him, he just won’t stand up for himself! Not to mention him and Peter are always getting at it. I keep telling him he’d have friends if he just tried _talking_ to people, but he never listens to me. Maybe you two might have better luck with him.”

“Perhaps,” Damien said neutrally, preventing a red-faced Wilford from saying something he shouldn’t. “If Eric and Peter share a room, would it be alright if we spoke to Eric in the backyard for privacy?”

“Sure, sure, I’ve talked your ears off enough already!” Tammy said with a laugh. _“Eric!!”_ She yelled in the direction of the stairs, making Damien and Wilford jump. “Come down, Damien and Wilford are here to meet you!!” When Eric didn’t immediately respond or come downstairs, Tammy sighed and went upstairs to get him herself.

“I thought yelling like that was one of Eric’s PTSD triggers,” Wilford muttered. Damien squeezed his hand under the table.

“If you punch her like I know you want to,” Damien said, “We’ll never be able to get Eric out of here.”

Wilford huffed, but said nothing more.

After a few minutes of waiting, Tammy finally came downstairs with Eric in tow. Damien and Wilford stood to greet him, and saw that same skittish boy from the photo, fluffy hair and glasses and all. His sneakered feet clunked softly with every step he took, and though his jeans covered his legs, it was clear where his jeans rested over his skin and where they tapered down around the metal of his prosthetics. His face was a little pale, he seemed to be trembling a little. He had something in his hands, a bit of yellow cloth that he twisted around. He seemed hardly able to meet anyone’s eyes, staring mostly at the floor.

“Goodness, you always do take your sweet time!” Tammy huffed, trying for humor to mask her annoyance.

“S-Sorry,” Eric said, with a voice that wavered and trembled like a ripple on water.

“Well, say hello!” Tammy took his arm – another trigger, Damien remembered – and pulled him forward. Eric went a shade paler and didn’t look up.

“H-Hi, Mr. Goldheart and, um, M-Mr. Warfstache.”

“Hello, Eric,” Damien said, voice gentle and mouth smiling against the urge to scoop the boy up and take him home right then and there. Wilford seemed to be feeling similarly. “You can call me Damien, if you’d like.”

“And you can call me Wilford,” Wilford added, smiling as well, though he was clearly hiding more anger at Tammy.

Fortunately, Tammy let Eric go then. The couple didn’t miss the relieved slump of Eric’s shoulders.

“Eric, why don’t you show them the way to the backyard?” She beamed at Damien and Wilford. “You stay as long as you like, have fun now!”

Damien gave a deceptively warm thanks and Wilford gave nothing as Eric led them through the kitchen to the sliding glass door leading out back.

The moment the three stepped out of the house and closed the door behind them, Eric – well, didn’t quite relax, but did become much less nervous. He stopped trembling, stopped twisting the yellow cloth. There was a glass deck table with chairs for the three to sit in, so they did, taking a moment to settle in.

“What a piece of work,” Wilford muttered, looking back through the door at where Tammy was leaving the kitchen, Tyler still in her arms.

“Oh, T-Tammy’s not that, that bad,” Eric mumbled. “I mean, she’s n-not bad at all. She’s fine.”

“We’re not gonna tell her what you say here, Eric,” Wilford said more kindly, looking at Eric. “You can admit that Tammy’s a huge b–”

“Alright, alright,” Damien interjected, “We aren’t here to talk about Tammy. We’re here to…get to know each other, I suppose.” He smiled a little. “We’re new to this, Wilford and I. But Katy showed us your profile and we just had to meet you.”

“Oh!” Eric perked up right away at the mention of Katy. “Yeah, um, yeah, Katy’s really nice.” He shrunk down again just as fast. “But, what did she t-tell you about me?”

“That you’re a great kid,” Wilford said, “That you’ve had a tough go at it so far, but you’re tough right back.”

“Me? Tough? I-I don’t think so…”

“Sure you are,” Damien murmured kindly, “This seems like a tough place to live.”

“Hey,” Wilford interjected, “I thought you said we weren’t talking about Tammy!”

Eric giggled, so quietly they nearly missed it. And oh, Damien had wondered what his child’s smile would look like, what his laugh would sound like, and both were perfect. Damien knew then that no matter what happened, Eric was the only kid he wanted. Wilford’s starry-eyed expression seemed to say the same. But Eric subdued once he noticed Damien and Wilford staring, looking at his hands.

“It’s r-really okay,” Eric murmured, “Marta and Tyler are n-nice. Harry’s okay, too. Peter and I, um, d-don’t get along that great, but it’s not his f-fault. He’s had a rough, um, a hard life, too.”

“And Kyle?”

At that moment, the ringing of a bike bell sounded from the front yard, followed by a youthful yet deep-voiced “I’m home!” Both sounds made Eric flinch, and he flinched a third time when the front door slammed as Kyle, back from work, went inside.

“I see,” Wilford muttered. “Kyle’s mean too, isn’t he?”

“He’s n-not that, that bad,” Eric whispered, voice fluttery, “We just d-don’t get along, um, that w-well.” He started twisting his yellow cloth again. “Tammy d-doesn’t believe that he, um, isn’t th-that nice to me.”

Wilford’s face turned with anger, but Damien put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing.

“Calm yourself, Wil,” he warned.

Wilford was about to protest when he noticed how Eric was shrinking back against his chair, furiously twisting his cloth. He sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Sorry about all that, kiddo,” Wilford apologized, “I’m scaring you a bit, aren’t I? I just hate to see you in such a pickle.”

“I-It’s okay,” Eric replied, relaxing a good amount. He shrugged, staring at the cloth in his hands. “And here, I mean, it’s, well…it’s b-better than home was.”

Damien’s heart snapped, and he’d be shocked if Wilford’s hadn’t, too.

“Katy told us a bit about that, too,” Damien murmured. He shook his head. “Fifteen brothers…I can’t imagine.”

“It was p-pretty crazy sometimes,” Eric admitted, grinning a little. “A-And sometimes th-they were nice. The ones, um, closest t-to my age. And D-Dad tried his best, w-with all of us, and Mom g-gone…”

Damien was about to speak when he saw Wilford’s eyes widen slightly with realization.

“Say, that yellow cloth you have there…” Wilford asked, “Is that…from your old home?”

Eric nodded, smiling a little bigger.

“It’s a b-baby blanket,” he said, holding it under his chin, “Mom m-made it for me, while she was pregnant, um, with me, I think. I d-don’t know for sure. When sh-she made it, I mean. I don’t r-really remember. B-But I’ve had this f-forever.” He seemed to break out of his reverie, and quickly moved the blanket back to his lap as his smile dropped. “I-I know it’s silly…”

“It’s not silly at all,” Damien assured him, “I think it’s very sweet.”

“R-Really?”

“Of course!” Wilford exclaimed, “And yellow is an excellent color, if I do say so myself!” He pointed to his yellow dress shirt. “Second only to pink, of course.” He adjusted his bowtie with a wink.

Eric laughed again, much stronger than before, and Damien’s heart swelled.

The rest of their conversation went on in a similar vein, not going very far beyond small talk or beyond what Eric was willing to share. Still, they learned quite a lot for a first meeting: They learned that Eric enjoyed reading, especially old classics, but wasn’t very good at writing. They learned that Eric was fond of little kids and liked to play with them so long as they didn’t yell. They learned the names of Eric’s fifteen brothers – or at least, they tried to, but their attempts to recite them all as Eric did only ever got about halfway through. They learned Eric’s favorite color (yellow, of course), his favorite animal (cats, one of which he’d love to have as a pet), and his dream job (zookeeper, because animals are kind and don’t have all the weird expectations that humans do. He didn’t say all that, but Damien and Wilford could tell it was the truth). As the three talked, Eric’s smiles and laughs became more common, his speech became faster and more excited, and he seemed to be more and more comfortable with Damien and Wilford.

_“Katy was right,”_ Damien thought as he listened to Eric’s joyful chatter, _“Eric really is something special.”_

They did eventually have to leave, though, and Eric couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“Oh,” he said, “B-But, you’ll, I mean, you both…you’ll come back, right?”

“Of course we will,” Damien murmured as he and Wilford stood up. “We’ll set it up with Katy as soon as we get home.”

“You’re a hoot, kiddo!” Wilford added with a boisterous laugh. “We can’t wait to chat with you again.”

“Oh,” Eric repeated, mystified, as he stood as well. His next smile was soft, wavery but cheerful. “Good. I…I’m looking forward to it, too.”

Damien thought he’d explode from how cute Eric was in that moment. Instead, he hesitantly opened his arms.

“Can we…?” he asked, trailing off. His nerves from the morning reared up again, making him wonder if this was too much, if it would make Eric uncomfortable –

Eric hugged him, huddling against his chest like he belonged there. And Damien suddenly wondered when, between Eric’s awful birth family and his subpar foster family, the last time he’d been hugged was. He hugged Eric back, arms around his back, and felt Eric trembling just a little.

“I-It was nice to meet you,” Eric said, voice very small, like he was a hair’s breadth from tears.

“You too, Eric,” Damien murmured, rubbing his back. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Hey, let me in on this!” Wilford cried, swooping in and scooping up both Damien and Eric in his own hug. Eric squeaked in surprise, which turned into a laugh as Damien yelped and began to protest.

“Wil, put us down!” he exclaimed, taking care not to be too loud. Fortunately, Eric was still laughing.

“We’ll be back before you know it, kiddo,” Wilford assured Eric, ignoring Damien.

“Thanks,” Eric replied with a smile, cheeks turning a little pink.

Wilford did eventually put Eric and Damien down, and too soon Damien and Wilford were walking down the stone path to their car. They did look back though to wave to Eric as he stood at the door, though, and Eric shyly waved back. They saw him flinch at a yell from Tammy that even they could hear, and in the next moment, Eric had darted back inside.

“Ugh, that woman,” Wilford growled as he started up the car, “She doesn’t care at all about Eric, and I’d say she doesn’t care much about Marta or Peter either.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Damien sighed, “I met plenty of parents like her when I worked in public school. They knew their kids were struggling but they never bothered to find out what they needed, and thought that just telling them to do better would be enough.”

“How many times do we have to meet with Eric before we can adopt him?” Wilford asked, “I mean, I don’t know about you, Dames, but…” His voice turned soft and wistful. “I’m ready to take him home. He’s perfect.”

“Me too,” Damien replied, smiling as he remembered Eric’s laughter. “But this is a two-way street, Wil. He’s old enough to choose if he wants us to be his parents, and we can’t expect him to make a big decision like that from one meeting.” He paused, his smile dropped. “We may not be the only ones interested in adopting him. There’s no guarantee Eric will choose us.”

Wilford thought for a while, clearly unhappy.

“Well,” he conceded, “I guess I’ll be happy if someone gets him out of that house and away from Tammy, but…I still really want it to be us.”

“Me too. We’ll just have to see where it goes. And if Eric doesn’t choose us, then…”

Would they be able to find another child they connected with so deeply? One they loved so much, so fast? Damien didn’t know. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

The second meeting was different from the first one, mostly in good ways. Eric greeted them with excitement this time instead of nerves, and even a bit of surprise, like he hadn’t expected them to come back despite their reassurances. Instead of Damien and Wilford learning more about Eric, Eric wanted to learn about the couple. They told Eric what they each did for a living, and most of the conversation was Eric asking more questions in astonishment and excitement. Damien had been expecting Eric to be interested in Wilford’s work (what kid _wouldn’t_ want to hear about what it’s like to make TV shows?), but he was pleasantly surprised when Eric expressed an equal amount of interest in his school and how things worked there. There were much fewer awkward moments in the conversation, less dead air and less uncertainty. But there was one other difference between their first and second meeting, and that was the mark on Eric’s arm. A bruise wrapped around the middle of his forearm, and Eric’s short sleeves didn’t cover it up no matter how much he tugged the sleeve down.

“How did that happen?” Wilford asked sternly when he saw it, “Do we need to have a word with Tammy?”

“N-No!” Eric exclaimed, “It w-wasn’t Tammy. A-And it’s not, it’s not even that bad. Doesn’t hurt th-that much.” He curled in on himself as he spoke. Damien was beginning to realize that he did that often in response to conflict.

“Then who?” Damien asked gently, “We care about you, Eric. If someone hurt you we want to know.”

Eric stared at Damien like a deer in headlights. His glance flicked to Wilford, who had taken Damien’s lead and let his own gaze soften. Eric’s eyes welled up with tears, and he looked down again.

“K-Kyle’s kinda, um, r-rough sometimes,” Eric admitted, “He j-just grabbed me, b-but he probably d-didn’t mean, mean to hurt m-me. He’s b-bigger and stronger th-than me, so i-it was just, it w-was an accident.” He started sniffling. “P-Please don’t say a-anything, or m-make a big, um, a big d-deal out of it. It’s f-fine.”

Damien imagined Eric in a filthy house surrounded by brothers who bullied him and a father who let them, and understood Eric’s aversion to making trouble, even if it was trouble for others. He remembered the last meeting, when Eric said that Tammy didn’t believe him about Kyle’s bullying. It was no wonder that Eric wanted to keep quiet about it, and Damien wasn’t even sure if it was the wrong choice. There was no guarantee that himself and Wilford speaking to Tammy about it would do any good. Even if Tammy punished Kyle, Kyle might then retaliate by bullying Eric worse, and how likely would Tammy be to intervene? Damien always hated situations like that, situations with no good solution.

He compromised by bringing it up to Katy later.

“It’s obvious he’s being bullied, and that Tammy isn’t giving him the care he needs,” Damien told her over the phone after he and Wilford scheduled the third meeting. Said phone lay on the table so Wilford could participate as well.

“Can’t the agency do something about it?” Wilford asked, not bothering to hide his anger at Tammy anymore.

“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than you’d imagine,” Katy sighed over speakerphone, “Reporting abuse is a long and difficult process here, and Eric is old enough that he’d have to play a part in it. There needs to be concrete evidence, a single bruise that Eric is willing to explain away as accidental and a few uncouth remarks from Tammy don’t make an abuse case. I wish it did, based on what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen of Tammy myself, but the truth is, we only barely have enough foster homes available as it is. If Eric got removed from Tammy’s home…he may not have anywhere to stay.”

“So we just let this happen, then?” Wilford asked, face turning red with anger.

“I don’t like it either, but right now it’s just not worth pushing. Especially since you’re about to have your third meeting with Eric. If it goes well, we can start thinking about you and Damien adopting him. But that’ll be much harder to do if you’re trying to file an abuse suit against Tammy at the same time.”

“Katy, I’m a principal,” Damien interjected, rubbing his forehead against his rapidly-forming headache, “You can’t expect me to let this slide, especially not when there are two other foster children in that house. From what we know about Peter, he obviously has severe behavioral problems that aren’t being addressed properly, and Tammy seems to resent every word that comes out of Marta’s mouth. There has to be a better way.”

“I’m sorry,” Katy murmured, and to her credit she sounded genuine. “My best advice is to focus on Eric right now, and pursue an abuse case later.” Katy paused, then lowered her voice. “I’m not supposed to give you this kind of information, but you’re the only family meeting with Eric right now. If Eric likes you as much as you both like him – which I think he does, judging by what he’s told me – you can get him out of that house, guaranteed.” Her voice returned to normal. “I’ll bring up the bruise you saw with Eric and see if he’s changed his mind about not reporting it, but if not…”

“We understand,” Damien muttered, “We’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m sorry, both of you. Bye.”

Wilford huffed angrily as Damien pressed the “end call” button.

“So that’s it, then? We do nothing!?” Wilford yelled.

“For now,” Damien told him, still rubbing his forehead, “Katy knows the system better than we do, and I’d rather Eric be in Tammy’s house than out on the street. But once the papers are signed, we can go after her all we want.” He sighed. “I don’t like this either, Wilford, and if I thought Eric’s life was in danger I’d be acting very differently, but…we don’t have any good options right now.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you alright, Damien?” Wilford finally asked.

“I’m tired of this,” Damien mumbled, “This waiting, this run-around, I just…I want to take him _home.”_

“So do I,” Wilford said softly, “We’ll get to meet with Eric again soon.” He mustered a smile. “Katy said he likes us, didn’t she? Just one more meeting, and hopefully…”

“Mm,” Damien answered.

_“Hopefully, hopefully,”_ he thought.

~~~

The third meeting was much more eventful than the first two, but not until the end.

This time, the rapport between them all was even better. Eric even hugged them both hello, something he hadn’t done before (he seemed a bit embarrassed and nervous about it afterwards, though, but Damien and Wilford had reassured him it was more than okay). Though Eric was still his characteristic nervous self, he smiled a lot, laughed a lot, and didn’t even stutter as much as he did in the past. And, for the first time, Eric brought up the possibility of Damien and Wilford becoming his parents.

“S-So, after this meeting,” Eric mumbled near the end of their conversation, nervous and retiring once again, “You g-guys can, um, decide to, to…” He looked away from the couple, down at his lap, where his hand twisted his baby blanket. “O-Or you can m-meet with me more, um, i-if you want, y-you don’t have to–”

“Eric,” Wilford interrupted softly, mystified, “Are you…are you asking us if we’ll adopt you?”

Eric looked back up at them, a little pale to have the idea so out in the open. But he managed a short nod. Then he gasped.

“D-Damien! You’re crying!”

Damien startled, put a hand to his own cheek. So he was. Only a few tears had fallen, but now that Damien’s attention was on them, more fell to meet them.

“You’re such a sap, darling,” Wilford cooed, putting an arm around Damien’s shoulders and kissing his tear-stained cheek.

“Shut up,” Damien answered, laughing a little through his tears.

“A-Are you okay, D-Damien?” Eric asked anxiously.

“I’m alright, Eric,” Damien replied, laughter a little lighter, “I’m fine, I’m…I’m so much more than fine.”

Eric’s cheeks turned pink, and he shyly brought up his blanket to cover his mouth.

“So…” he mumbled, blanket muffling his voice, “D-do you…want t-to adopt me?”

“Of course!”

Both Damien and Wilford spoke at the same time, though Wilford was louder. Eric jumped slightly, but then his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, like he was smiling big under his baby blanket.

“Really?”

“Why else would we keep coming?” Wilford asked brightly. “Other than to hang out with you, of course!”

“We’ve wanted to adopt you since we first heard about you,” Damien murmured, “And every moment we’ve spent with you has only made us want it more.”

“Oh,” Eric whispered, voice small and thin but joyful. He finally lowered his blanket to reveal his huge, happy smile. “Good. I mean…I want y-you to adopt me, too.”

Damien felt his heart might explode right then and there, and judging by the look on Wilford’s face, he felt the same.

But that wasn’t the only eventful part of the meeting.

Later, at the end of the visit, Damien and Wilford left the backyard to sit in the kitchen with Tammy, discussing the next step, while Eric went elsewhere, presumably to his room. To her credit, Tammy seemed happy for Eric, but it may have only been because it meant she wouldn’t have to care for him anymore. As they talked, Damien suddenly thought he heard something from within the house. He ignored it at first, thinking it might be Harry or Marta playing, or some other benign sound that Damien had grown accustomed to hearing here. But sounds kept popping up, inconsistent and unfamiliar. They seemed to come from the hallway between the dining room and TV room, not far from the kitchen. The more Damien listened, the more it sounded like hushed conversation. All at once, there was a quick, sharp sound, like snapping fingers but shorter. Damien couldn’t help it, he had to know what the sounds were from. He had a feeling they weren’t good. He excused himself (he and Wilford already knew where the bathroom was from earlier visits, so it wasn’t odd for Damien to do so) and left the kitchen to seek the source of the sounds.

He found Kyle, standing threateningly over Eric, one hand bunched in the fabric of Eric’s shirt, one pointing in Eric’s face as he whispered something to him, voice tight with rage. Eric was cowering, arms against the wall, hands up, tears trickling down his face.

Damien had never met Kyle, he’d only seen him occasionally. He knew that Kyle was a head taller than Eric and twice as muscular, and that he was a typical cocky teenager with a mean streak. And Damien, with his years of experience, was very good as dealing with cocky teenagers. Something in his chest reared up with anger to see Eric so afraid, but he quelled it, stood up straighter, and reached for the principal part of himself.

There’s a reason Damien’s students call him “Dark.”

“What’s going on here?” Damien asked, in a stern tone that implied he already knew, and that any lie would only garner more punishment.

Kyle and Eric both turned to look at him. Both their eyes widened; Kyle knew he’d been caught, and Eric had never seen Damien like that before. But Kyle recovered quickly.

“We’re just talking,” he scoffed, letting Eric go. “Tell ‘im, Eric.”

“W-We…” Eric began, voice breathy and fearful, nearly falling over without Kyle’s hand in his shirt holding him up. He looked at Damien helplessly, and Damien saw a red mark on Eric’s cheek.

He realized that the sharp sound he’d heard had been Eric getting slapped. Anger reared up in him again, and he let a measure of it show on his face as he turned his gaze to Kyle.

“If you were just talking,” he asked slowly, “Then how exactly did Eric get that mark on his cheek?”

Eric raised a hand to cover his cheek, self-conscious. Kyle snarled, then stomped up to Damien.

“Whatever,” he growled, grinning like a wolf, “It doesn’t matter. You’re not my mom. You can’t do anything. Go away and go home, your meeting’s over anyway.”

Damien tilted his head, and allowed himself the smallest smile.

“Oh? I can’t do anything?” he asked, “Your mother is over in the kitchen, isn’t she? I think she’d like to know what’s going on.”

“You won’t tell her,” Kyle muttered, though he suddenly looked much less fearsome. “She won’t believe you, anyway.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Kyle,” Damien said, though he was no longer smiling, and his voice was deadly serious. “You’re terrible at bluffing, and you’re even worse at threatening.” He leaned forward, just enough to make Kyle squirm, but not enough to make him step back. “Has your mother told you what I do for a living?”

“You’re a principal,” Kyle snapped, though his voice had little bite.

“I am,” Damien replied, “I’m a principal of an alternative school. Plenty of my students have been expelled from regular schools for fighting other kids or attacking teachers, some have been to jail for violent behavior, some have threatened violence and meant it.” He let his slight grin return. “I’ve had teenagers much bigger and stronger than you screaming in my face and threatening to kill me. You do not scare me, Kyle.” He straightened, allowing a slight pause for his words to sink in. “I suggest you come up with a better lie than “just talking” in the next minute before I talk to your mother.”

He probably overdid it; Kyle looked a little green. But Damien didn’t feel too bad about it as Kyle scurried away. He looked to Eric, who was still by the wall, back flush against it, eyes wide with equal parts awe and fear, face pale aside from the red mark still on his cheek. Damien forced down his principal side and returned himself to normal, stern countenance disappearing in the wake of pity and concern.

“Eric, hon, are you alright?” he asked, approaching Eric to comfort him. The pet name came out without thinking, and he likewise cupped Eric’s cheeks without thinking, thumbing away Eric’s tears and being gentle with his injured cheek.

“I-I think so,” Eric whimpered, still crying a little. He brought his hands to Damien’s wrists, not to push them away, but just to hold on. “Thanks, D-Damien.”

Damien smiled warmly, and once more without thinking, kissed Eric’s forehead. He might’ve had second thoughts in the moment, that old fear of making Eric uncomfortable returning, but Eric leaned into the kiss before the thought could materialize.

“I’m going to have a word with Tammy,” Damien said, and Eric cringed at that, which Damien was quick to soothe. “I know you’re scared, but this can’t continue. I’m not letting Kyle hurt you anymore.”

Eric just nodded, awestruck again.

Damien went back to the kitchen, and Eric trailed behind him, still clinging to one of Damien’s arms, half-hiding behind him. A commotion was already brewing there, with Tammy and Wilford arguing as Kyle looked between them.

“I knew that brat of yours was up to no good! Don’t think we didn’t see the bruise he gave Eric last week!”

“I’m telling you, that’s ridiculous! Kyle’s a good boy, he didn’t hurt Eric! It must’ve been–”

“Then explain _this,”_ Damien interjected, pointing at Eric’s red cheek and weepy eyes.

Tammy turned red, and Kyle looked away.

“What – Kyle…” Tammy sounded genuinely astonished, and Wilford scoffed.

“I didn’t do anything!” Kyle yelled, “He’s a pest, he always has been!!”

_“You’re_ the pest!” Wilford yelled back, “Hurting someone like that, what’s wrong with you!? We know Eric, there’s nothing he could’ve done to deserve you _hitting_ him!! And you!” He whirled on Tammy. “Eric told you he was being bullied and you didn’t believe him!!”

“How was I supposed to believe Eric over my own son!?” Tammy cried, “And you know Eric, you know how oversensitive he can be!”

That only fired up Wilford even more, but Damien didn’t catch what he said in return, because he caught a choked sound come from beside him. He looked down to see Eric standing stock-still, skin ghost-white, eyes wide and staring at nothing, breathing fast and shallow.

“Eric,” he murmured, and the sound of his voice jolted Eric back into partial awareness. He released Damien’s arm to slap his hands over his ears against the shouting match in front of him.

“Stop, stop, please stop,” Eric gasped, so quiet he could barely be heard. He stumbled backwards until he hit a wall, then slid down to curl up in a ball.

Damien’s heart snapped in his chest, but he forced himself not to crumble. The arguing had to stop, and Damien knew how to command a room without raising his voice.

“Everyone, stop!” he said, voice deep and stern and resonant over the argument. Wilford and Tammy ceased shouting, and Kyle used the break to dart off to his room. Damien gestured to Eric, and Wilford’s expression clouded with guilt as Tammy’s paled.

“Wilford, stay with Eric,” Damien continued, still commanding, “I’ll speak with Tammy.”

Damien knew that endless screaming wouldn’t make the situation any better, and the best way to resolve the situation properly was a clam conversation with Tammy. He also knew that Wilford was too angry for that, regardless of how much he wanted to keep talking to her. Sure enough, Wilford looked like he wanted to argue. But then Eric whimpered, and Wilford merely nodded and rushed to Eric’s side. Damien approached Tammy, and if the look on her face was any indication, she would rather still be dealing with Wilford.

“Let’s talk elsewhere,” Damien said, “Give Eric a chance to calm down.”

That’s how he ended up at the backyard table for the fourth time, sitting across from Tammy, hands clasped in front of himself and back straight, staring at Tammy gravely. Tammy was already squirming.

“Here is the situation as I understand it,” Damien began, “Kyle has been bullying Eric for some time. Eric has informed you of the situation in the past, but you did not believe him. Kyle has injured Eric twice at least, bruising his arm last week and slapping him today.” He leaned forward. “You understand, I’m sure, that this is untenable.”

Damien is just as good at dealing with difficult parents as he is with difficult students.

“Yes,” Tammy said, quiet. She gave a short sigh. “Kyle’s never been like this to others. He’s so good with Harry and Tyler, and Marta and Peter never had problems with him–”

“Do you know that for certain?” Damien asked. “If Marta and Peter knew that you didn’t believe Eric when he told you about Kyle’s bullying, why would they tell you if he was bullying them, too? If I asked the two of them about it right now, are you sure they’d say that Kyle has left them alone?”

Tammy turned even paler.

“Let me be frank, Tammy,” Damien continued, “I am not looking for excuses. I am looking for solutions. Wilford and I have not made a formal complaint, but we have made Katy aware of our concerns, and are prepared to do more if we deem it necessary. It’s quite obvious to us that your own children are more important to you than your fosters, which I do understand. But the fact remains that you are solely responsible for the wellbeing of your fosters, just as you are for your own children. Wilford and I may be adopting Eric, but we don’t wish to leave Marta and Peter in a bad situation. So how do you plan to rectify this?”

Tammy looked at her feet for a time. When her gaze returned, she was still pale, but seemed steadier.

“I’ll send Kyle to a friend’s house tonight, to give him some space from the others,” she mumbled, “I’ll talk to them, see…see what’s going on. Kyle’s getting grounded when he comes back, and I’ll…I’ll pay more attention. Please don’t report me.”

“I hope I won’t have to,” Damien answered. He stood up, and Tammy scrambled to follow. “Katy will be informed of our conversation, and we’ll be checking in with Eric as the adoption process continues to make sure things are going well.”

Tammy nodded, unable to do much else. Damien led the way back into the house, and Tammy broke away quickly to go upstairs. Damien caught sight of Marta and Peter watching him as he stepped inside, and after a moment of thought, took out his phone.

“Peter, right?” Damien asked the boy. He was Eric’s height but a bit sturdier, hair covered by a gray beanie. He grunted noncommittally, and Damien continued. “Things should be better here from now on, but if they aren’t, I have a number I want you to have. Can you take it down for me?”

Peter regarded him critically. Damien’s seen many children like him, angry kids who, deep down, were tired of anger. Peter eventually sighed and took out his own phone as though it was a huge inconvenience. Damien showed him Katy’s number, and Peter typed it into his phone. Marta watched with big brown eyes, but said nothing.

With that done, Damien left the pair and returned to the kitchen, following the quiet whimpers to where Eric sat on the floor – rather, Wilford sat on the floor, and Eric sat in his lap, swallowed up in Wilford’s arms. Wilford was stroking Eric’s hair, and he paused for a moment to kiss Eric’s forehead, making Eric cling tighter. After pulling away, Wilford’s eyes met Damien’s, and he offered a small smile as Damien knelt to him.

“Hey, Dames,” he said softly, “How’d everything go?”

“Good, I think,” Damien answered, “I think I scared Tammy into doing better, and Peter has Katy’s number if not.” He looked at Eric, whose face was still in Wilford’s chest. “How are things here?”

“Better,” Wilford murmured, giving Eric’s hair a gentle ruffle.

Eric finally looked up, big, teary brown eyes meeting Damien’s. His glasses were smudged with water and both his cheeks were red from crying. The mark from Kyle’s slap seemed to have faded, though, and despite his tears, Eric’s eyes were clear. He even managed a shaky smile. Damien couldn’t help but smile back, and put his own arm around Eric, joining the huddle.

Even after putting the fear of god in Tammy, Damien was still upset to be leaving Eric when he and Wilford finally had to go many minutes later. In the end, Eric had to pry himself out of Damien’s hug and swear he was okay to get Damien to go.

“I’ll b-be okay, I, I promise,” Eric had insisted, “You’ve b-both done so much for m-me already, n-no one’s ever…ever st-stood up for m-me like that before. And I swear I’ll t-tell you if things, um, if stuff gets bad a-again.” He’d grinned brighter than the sun. “I’m j-just staying here a l-little longer, a-and then…!”

Damien held onto that, held onto those words and Eric’s joy as Wilford drove them both home.

“This is happening,” Damien breathed.

“I told you it would,” Wilford replied, smiling wide.


	4. Chapter 4

Fortunately, Damien’s words to both Tammy and Kyle stuck. Damien and Wilford saw Eric quite a bit over the next few weeks as they went through the process of adoption, given that Eric was old enough to be expected to participate in it. He told Damien and Wilford that Kyle had been avoiding him since the incident, and while Tammy didn’t suddenly become a perfect parent, she was much gentler to Eric and the other fosters after everything. Between that and the impending adoption, Eric was happier and more excitable than ever, and it warmed Damien and Wilford’s hearts to see it.

The only true issue and point of friction came as they sat in an office room at the agency, pouring over documents, and tried to decide what Eric’s new surname should be.

“Warfstache is an _excellent_ surname!” Wilford insisted.

“It’s silly, is what it is,” Damien deadpanned, “Goldheart is much more dignified.”

“And more _boring._ Besides, everyone knows WarfstacheTV! With my last name, Eric’ll be the talk of the town!”

“Yes, I’m sure Eric would love that,” Damien said, repressing the urge to roll his eyes, “It’s not as if he has _social anxiety_ or anything. Besides, Goldheart is easier to spell, and shorter.”

“Eric’s a smart boy, he can learn to spell Warfstache! And it’s not _that_ much shorter!”

“It’s closer to the beginning of the alphabet than yours.”

“Who cares??”

A long pause ensued as the pair thought.

“What if we combined them?” Wilford suggested.

“How?” Damien asked. “Hyphenating them together would be way too long.”

“Hmm…Warfheart?”

“…No.”

“Goldstache?”

_“No.”_

“What about Heartstache?”

“What?”

“Warfgold?”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!”

“My idea is Goldheart, because that’s the best one.”

“Warfstache!”

“Goldheart!”

“Um…”

Damien and Wilford turn to the third person at the table, quite forgotten in their argument: Eric. He twisted his blanket in his hands, and Damien felt a little bad for making such a scene in front of him. Fortunately, he was only a little nervous rather than panicked.

“Oh, right,” Wilford mumbled, “We should hear what you want, too.”

“D-Don’t worry about it, um,” Eric said, looking between them. He paused, gathering himself, then continued. “I-I kind of want G-Goldheart as my surname, b-because I don’t, um, want lots of a-attention from people. A-About WarfstacheTV, I mean. But!” he added quickly at Wilford’s sad frown, “I-I’d like W-Warfstache to be m-my middle name, if th-that’s okay. My middle name r-right now is, um, my dad’s father’s name, b-but I never even knew him.” He looks down. “I-I’d rather not have, um, that p-part of my life in m-my name anymore.”

There was a pause as Damien and Wilford mulled over Eric’s words and his suggestion.

“Eric Warfstache Goldheart,” Wilford murmured. He smiled. “I like it. What do you think, Dames?”

“It’s perfect,” Damien said, and he meant it. When Eric looked up again, Damien slowly reached across the table to touch Eric’s shoulder. Eric smiled softly, and Damien smiled back.

The name change was at the tail end of the adoption process. It wasn’t much longer until Damien and Wilford were finally, finally able to take Eric home as their son. Of course, they’d already thought of Eric as such anyway, but when it became official, Damien cried yet again, and so did Eric, and even Wilford shed a tear or two. Eric didn’t have much to bring with him to the house, only some clothes and a few books, and he marveled at Damien and Wilford’s house upon entering.

“It’s really not much, kiddo,” Wilford said, a little amused at Eric’s awe.

“Well, it’s too big for us two, at least,” Damien put in, “But I think it’ll fit three of us just fine.”

“Y-Yeah, I guess…” Eric paused, shy. “Well, T-Tammy’s house was sm-smaller, and…my old dad’s house w-was, um, bigger I think, b-but it wasn’t, it w-wasn’t as nice as this.”

There was a learning curve for the three of them, that’s for sure.

Eric wasn’t used to having a nice place to live, wasn’t used to people who cared. He was used to spending days hidden in his room, reading the same books over and over to avoid others. He was used to people coming into his room without warning instead of knocking and asking. He was used to collecting things, hoodies and toothbrushes and glasses cleaner, and hiding them in odd places so no one else could take them. He was used to pinching and itching from his too-tight prosthetics. He was used to keeping quiet, not complaining, agreeing with what others wanted and disagreeing with what they hated. Meeting Damien and Wilford at a table in a backyard felt different than living with them, and Eric couldn’t unlearn everything he’d done to survive just because Damien and Wilford were nice to him.

But nice to him they were: Damien and Wilford took him shopping, got him newer, nicer clothes and new books to read. They listened to him when he spoke, they didn’t interrupt or talk over his stuttering. They found a therapist for his PTSD and anxiety, they got him fitted with better-fitting and more durable prosthetics. When they noticed him squinting, they took him to an eye doctor for a new prescription and new glasses. They quickly realized that Eric wouldn’t tell them when things were wrong or when he wanted something, and that until he felt safe enough to do it, they’d have to figure it out themselves. They learned that Eric hid when he cried, hid when he broke something by accident, hid after he said something he thought he’d get in trouble for. They learned that he bit his knuckles to keep from sobbing when bad memories woke him in the middle of the night. They learned he never said “no” when asked to do something, regardless of what it was or if he actually wanted to do it at all. But they also learned how much he loved touch, how much he needed casual hugs and hair ruffles and kisses, even though he flinched when they raised their hands too quickly. They tried to be slower, softer, quieter, tried to make him feel safe.

For a while, though, progress stalled. They enrolled Eric in the public high school closest to them, and as much they encouraged him to speak up about problems, he hid every bad mark and never seemed to speak about friends – unless Damien and Wilford expressed concern about it, in which case he insisted he did have friends, and that the couple didn’t need to worry about him. The only friends he seemed to have were RJ and CJ, who were about the same age as Eric and visited quite often, but they went to Goldheart’s, not the public high school. The only concrete name Damien and Wilford could get from Eric regarding his own school was Brian Keller, who was as far from a friend to Eric as one could get. They’d expected Eric to have trouble adjusting, but things just weren’t tenable. He was quiet and withdrawn and nervous, even on the weekends, even through all the devotion the couple poured into him. And he still had yet to call either of them “dad,” and they tried not to notice, but it stung them both.

Things came to a head one day, when Eric came home with a bruised jaw and blood crusting his nostrils.

“Hey, what happened!?” Damien asked him, rushing to him to get a better look. Eric let him, but he trembled as Damien gently felt over his jaw and examined his nose. “Here, let’s clean you up.”

Eric followed silently as Damien went to the kitchen for a wet paper towel for Eric’s nose, as though he were waiting to be punished. Damien winced at the thought, but pushed it down to wipe Eric’s bloody nose as gently as he could.

“How’d this happen?” Damien asked.

Eric shrugged.

“Eric, tell me, please,” Damien begged.

“J-Just a guy,” Eric mumbled, voice feathery and thin.

“It was Brian, wasn’t it?” Damien said, already knowing the answer.

“It’s n-not a big d-deal,” Eric whispered, “You d-don’t have to worry a-about it.”

“It is to me, and it will be to Wilford when he gets home.”

Eric’s eyes went wide, once again like he expected punishment.

“Please d-don’t tell Wilford!” he cried, “H-He’s probably had a-a long day, and he, h-he doesn’t need t-to worry about it!”

“You’re the one who had a long day, Eric,” Damien told him, trying to keep his voice steady. Conversations in this vein happened every day with Eric, and it was hard for Damien to keep calm about it. “Someone hurt you. Wilford needs to know about it.”

“I’m f-fine,” Eric insisted, eyes darting to the floor, “I p-promise I’m fine.”

“You’re bruised, and there was blood in your nose.” Damien sighed. “You know you’re not in trouble, right?”

Eric’s eyes traveled back to Damien, and he trembled, as though looking for an escape route.

“I d-don’t want there to be…be a big d-deal about it.” Eric reached around to pull out his baby blanket from where it was tucked into the side pocket of his backpack. “Wilford’s g-gonna wanna c-call the school, a-and talk to the p-principal, and…” He trailed off anxiously.

“I want to do those things, too, Eric,” Damien pointed out, “As well I should. Brian needs to be punished, and I don’t want this happening again.”

“But t-telling makes it w-worse, telling a-always makes it w-worse,” Eric whispered, “Kyle o-overhead me, w-when I told Katy a-about the b-bruise on my arm. It m-made it worse.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you then, Eric,” Damien murmured, and he meant it, “But we can protect you now. We can make this stop, we can keep Brian away from you, we can–!”

“D-Don’t…” Eric took a step back. “P-Please don’t.”

Even just arguing back was taking all of Eric’s emotional will, and though Damien knew he could wear Eric down into agreeing, that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Eric to agree because he truly agreed, because he thought he was worth something…because he trusted Damien and Wilford to take care of him.

Damien didn’t have enough time to tell himself not to cry at that thought before tears were already slipping down his face.

“You know we love you, don’t you?” he asked before he could stop himself, “Don’t you know how much we care about you? Do you trust us at all?” A sob cut him off, but he recovered quickly, frustration fueling him. “What are we doing wrong, Eric? What do you need from us? What do we have to do to get it through your head that we want to help you?? We’re trying so hard to help you feel safe, to give you everything you need, to be the ones you can come to when something’s wrong. But you hide everything, and I…” He sobbed again. “I can always see how you feel, but I never know what you’re thinking. When will you let us care about you?”

Eric was crying too, Damien realized. He never looked so small, staring up at Damien with big tears running down his cheeks, blanket still clutched in his hands, bruise still on his jaw. He looked frozen, stuck, until he squeezed his eyes shut and put his blanket over his face, hiding yet again.

“Eric–” Damien started, but enough frustration leaked through to send Eric darting to his room. He didn’t slam the door, but Damien heard it close.

_“I went too far,”_ he thought, _“I went too far.”_

He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and was still there, crying, when he heard the front door open.

“Honey, I’m ho–” Wilford cut himself off upon hearing Damien’s sobs. “Damien, what happened??”

Damien heard him rush into the kitchen, and looked up to see Wilford pulling out a chair to sit in beside him.

“What’s going on, darling?” Wilford asked, shocked and concerned, putting his arms around Damien.

Damien told him everything as he wept into his chest, heart aching as he remembered the words he said.

“I sh-should never have said those things,” Damien sobbed, “I pushed him too h-hard, I put too much on him! I know it’s n-not his fault that he feels the way h-he does, I know how kids like h-him are, I just…” Damien gulped in a needed breath between sobs. “I j-just want him to feel like he’s s-safe here. Safe with _us.”_

“I do, too,” Wilford murmured, stroking Damien’s hair, “I feel like…I feel like I scare him sometimes. I get too loud or I get angry at things, and I can see how it makes him panic.” He squeezed Damien tighter. “I’m…I’m trying to do better, but he just…he just needs more time. You know how long progress takes with kids like Eric.”

“I know,” Damien whimpered, lifting his head out of Wilford’s shoulder to look at him, “I know i-it’ll take a while, but I just…it was so easy when we were meeting with Eric, he was so happy to be with us, he was so bright and excited, I…I thought it’d b-be the same when we brought him home. But it’s like those meetings h-have been erased and we’re starting from scratch.” He closed his eyes, tears still falling. “Eric asked us t-to adopt him, but do you think…do you think he regrets it?”

“No!” Wilford exclaimed, “There’s no way he regrets it! He went through the whole process with us, took our names, everything.” He sighed. “I guess I thought it’d be easier, too. You’re right, he was so much happier in our meetings. But things are just…different, now.” He pondered for a moment. “Maybe his school is part of the problem. If he’s being bullied, we need to do something about it.”

“He was adamant that he didn’t want us making it a big deal,” Damien said, finally starting to calm down as he considered how to address the situation. “But we don’t have a choice. We can’t just let him get hurt.” He sighed, leaning into Wilford’s chest. “I just want him to be able to trust us. If we can resolve this, maybe…”

He trailed off, not wanting to give into wishful thinking. It was too much to hope that one thing could change Eric’s mind about them. Still, if speaking with the school would at least make Eric physically safer, then it was worth it.

(Neither he or Wilford noticed that Eric had left his room some time ago and was standing in the hall, peeking around the corner, watching and listening to the pair talk. Eric waited for another minute after the conversation ended, but when the couple stayed silent, he stole away back to his room, mulling over what he’d seen and heard.)

~~~

Damien and Wilford arranged a meeting with the principal and met with him the next day while Eric was in school. Unlike in his meetings with Eric, Damien did not fear being intimidating for this one. He wore his suit and sat up straight, projecting calm, cold confidence. Wilford projected red-hot anger, though Damien hoped he’d refrain from shouting at the principal. The principal himself, Harold Ingle, was a balding, older man with the air of a person who’d been in their position too long. Damien recalled many people like that from his days at public school; tenured teachers and officials who were mediocre at best or incompetent at worst. They weren’t the norm by any means, but that didn’t make them less of a pain to deal with. Damien knew right away that this conversation would be an uphill battle.

He shook his hand firmly but not roughly; he knew Wilford would be rough enough for the two of them. Sure enough, the way Harold’s easy grin faltered a bit as Wilford shook his hand suggested that Wilford’s grip was intentionally much too tight. Still, Harold recovered admirably and gestured for the pair to sit.

“I understand you’re here about your son, Eric Goldheart, is that correct?” Harold asked. With formalities out of the way, he seemed to want to get right to business, which at least saved Damien the trouble.

“Yes,” Damien answered.

“He’s been having problems with another student,” Wilford explained, “Brian Keller. We know he’s been bothering Eric for a while, but Eric never wanted us to get involved.”

“But he came home injured yesterday,” Damien said, voice dark with the gravity of the situation, “His jaw is bruised, and his nose was bloody last night and is bruised now.” Eric had tried to hide how his nose had purpled overnight as he was catching the bus, and Damien and Wilford both saw.

Harold seemed surprised.

“That’s rather strange,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m familiar with Brian, he’s a bright young man. Active in sports, gets good grades. He’s quite popular with both students and faculty.”

“He’s also a bully,” Wilford put in, already glaring, “Who’s been making Eric’s life miserable for weeks and has now started hurting him.”

“Well,” Harold said, with a slight huff of laughter, “You must understand, if any of the teachers had seen bullying behavior, they’d certainly let me know about it. And if I had seen it, I would’ve addressed it.”

“What exactly are you implying?” Damien asked, voice steely. Harold shrank back a little at Damien’s tone, but persisted.

“Eric’s proven himself to be a rather…sensitive young man, is all I mean to say.”

“You were aware of that when he started here, Harold.” Damien could see Wilford turning red out of the corner of his eyes, and fought to maintain his own composure. “That’s why he’s on an IEP. You understand his history and the ways in which that might influence his education. You understand that he is _vulnerable.”_

“I–”

“Eric is sensitive, but he is not a liar. Must we call him to your office so you can see his bruises for yourself? We would rather not pull him out of class.”

“It’s probably hard enough for him to focus on his work when he’s got Brian to worry about,” Wilford added, muttering.

“Frankly,” Harold began, blustering a little, “They don’t even have the same classes.”

“I’m quite certain that’s true. We’ve established that your teachers have not reported anything.” Damien leaned forward in his seat. “If Brian is as bright as you claim, he’s smart enough not to punch our son in front of teachers. That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be held accountable.”

“Right, well,” Harold continued, sweating slightly, “We do have protocols to address these things.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You’re a principal too, correct, Damien?”

“I am,” Damien answered, “I imagine I deal with this type of situation rather often. Many of my students have conditions or histories that lead them to bullying behavior. And yet, said behavior is rooted out, addressed, and resolved quite fast.” Damien tilted his head. “I wonder why I can do it and you can’t, Harold?”

“This school isn’t like yours, Damien,” Harold said, glowering just a little, “We have too many students to give them all constant, individual attention. We cannot monitor every move they make. If bullying occurs, students have a responsibility to let the teachers know.”

“What about the parents!?” Wilford interjected loudly, “We are here, right now, letting you know about bullying that is happening to our son! We’ve fulfilled our responsibility, and so far all you’ve given us are excuses! Either you’re going to do something about this or you aren’t, so which is it??”

“I will speak to them,” Harold says quickly, “I’ll talk to them about the concerns you’ve brought to me today, and we will continue from there.”

“We better,” Damien seethed. He stood. “We expect to be updated soon.”

Harold nodded, face a little white. He scrambled to stand as well, but Damien walked briskly out of his office without shaking his hand or saying goodbye, and Wilford did the same.

Damien waited to sigh until they’d left the school and were on their way to their car.

“That old fool,” he muttered to himself, “How many other kids has Brian been bullying using his popularity as a cover? He’d know if he was paying attention to his own damn school.”

“And how he turned it around on you!” Wilford exclaimed, shouting angrily, “He figured you’d understand his point of view and agree with him! What an idiot!”

“He better address this,” Damien muttered, “He better do something about this. I’m not letting Eric get hurt again.”

Wilford nodded, brows still furrowed with anger. The drive home was silent as the pair stewed in their frustration.

After spending the day working from home, they did receive a call from the principal, answered on speaker so both could participate.

“We spoke to Brian and Eric,” Harold told them, “But neither admitted to bullying or being bullied.”

“Did you see Eric’s bruises?” Damien practically growled.

“Y-Yes,” Harold stammered, nervous even through the phone, “But Eric would not explain how they occurred, and Brian didn’t know anything about them.”

“How do you know Brian didn’t lie?” Wilford asked.

“Well,” Harold replied, “I’m sure that Eric would’ve cleared things up if Brian were lying.”

Damien’s eyes widen. He can’t stop himself from snarling.

“You questioned them _together?”_ he hissed, “At the same time, in the same room??”

There was a pause on the other line. Wilford looked fit to murder, and Damien suspected his own expression was similar. He was seeing too much red to think very hard about it.

“Of course Eric didn’t speak up, he was afraid of being bullied again!!” Damien yelled, “You know Eric has problems with trusting authority, and you and your staff’s incompetence have only reinforced that distrust! Did you honestly expect that Brian would admit to physically harming another student if he didn’t have to!? Did you honestly expect that Eric would admit to being bullied in the same room as the one who bullied him?? And I suppose no one’s kept any sort of eye on them since they left your office.”

“W-Well–”

“You better hope Eric doesn’t come home injured again, or we _will_ be taking further action.”

Damien hung up with a frustrated growl.

“Bloody morons, all of them!” Wilford shouted, “How much do you bet that was the only “protocol” that school has around bullying??”

“Unbelievable,” Damien sighed, shaking with rage, “Completely unbelievable. Wil, if they aren’t going to do anything about this, I…” His anger deflated as he thought. “I can’t in good conscience send Eric there every day.”

“You’re right,” Wilford said, calming as well at the thought of Eric, “We can’t just keep sending him to slaughter, as it were.” He paused. “What if…Eric went to your school?”

It wasn’t the first time they’d talked about it. Once they’d begun the adoption process, they had conversations about whether they should put Eric in Goldheart’s or see how he did in public school first. They knew he’d done poorly in the middle school he’d been enrolled in while with Tammy, but they’d wanted to give him a chance in a normal school environment with proper support. They feared it might be too much pressure on Eric for him to be going to the school his adopted parent runs, so in the end, they enrolled him in the public high school. But that option clearly wasn’t working anymore.

“Goldheart’s is the better option now,” Damien admitted, “But I think…I think we need to speak to Eric about it. He should get a choice in the matter.”

Wilford nodded in pensive agreement. Fortunately, Eric came home from the bus soon after, and while he didn’t look anymore hurt than he did when he left the house that morning, he was pale and trembling. Damien and Wilford went to him instantly, and Eric for once met their eyes, his own wide behind his glasses.

“Um,” Eric said, looking like a deer in headlights.

Damien and Wilford both realized at once that they were already overwhelming Eric, so they each stepped back with a sigh.

“How are you, Eric?” Damien asked.

“O-Okay, I guess,” Eric mumbled, taking out his blanket to hold.

“You met with the principal, right?” Wilford prompted, “How…How did that go?”

Eric fidgeted with his blanket for a few moments before replying.

“N-Not great,” he admitted, “Mr. Ingle, um, talked to m-me and Brian. T-Together. And he, Brian, u-um, he wouldn’t admit t-to anything. M-Mr. Ingle asked me i-if anything happened, b-but I said no.” He ducked his head. “I-I was afraid a-about Brian. I’m s-sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Damien murmured, “You shouldn’t have been in the same room for that.”

“Let’s sit down and talk,” Wilford suggested, gesturing to the kitchen table, “We have a lot to talk about.”

Eric nodded, and followed them to sit at the table. And Damien couldn’t help but feel the familiarity of the situation: All three of them at a table, still trying to get to know each other, Damien and Wilford still trying to protect Eric.

“You look shaken,” Damien said softly, “Did something happen during your meeting with the principal?”

“N-No,” Eric mumbled, “Afterwards, B-Brian, um, threatened m-me.” He shudders. “He s-said if I t-told on him a-again I’d, um, I’d p-pay for it. I said I d-didn’t tell, b-but he didn’t b-believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” Damien whispered. Eric looked at him with shock, but Damien continued. “I know you asked me not to do anything, but…neither of us wanted to stand by and let you get hurt.”

“We thought that useless principal might actually do something,” Wilford grumbled, “But clearly that’s not in his job description.”

Eric nodded, then looked back at his blanket again. It took him a while to speak again.

“I’m s-sorry I…I d-don’t let you help me,” Eric said, so quiet he was nearly inaudible. “I know y-you both care about m-me, and I care about y-you guys, too. It’s just…” He sniffled. “It’s h-hard to m-make myself believe it. Because of…e-everything. And s-school is hard, and all th-that, but I’m…I’m really h-happy I’m here. I’m glad y-you chose me.” He looked up at their shocked expressions with shining eyes and the tiniest smile. “I do love you, both of you.”

Damien reached across the table, hand out, hoping for Eric’s. Tears blurred his vision as Eric put his blanket down, and Damien only knew by touch that Eric had taken his hand. But he was sure Wilford reached for and took Eric’s other hand, and used his free hand to stroke Damien’s cheek and catch some tears.

“You sap,” Wilford whispered, choked up himself. Damien laughed wetly, and even Eric giggled just a little.

Nothing more was said for a while as they kept hold of each other’s hands, soaking up love and comfort. Eventually, Damien broke the silence.

“We love you too, so much,” Damien murmured, “And that’s why…that’s why we’re wondering if this school is the wrong place for you.”

“We don’t want you in danger,” Wilford continued, “But the only alternative is, well…”

“Damien’s school?” Eric asked.

“Exactly,” Damien affirmed. He still held Eric’s hand in his own, and squeezed gently as he continued. “I know that Goldheart’s would be a great place for you. There’s less students, class sizes are smaller, and the teachers are more attentive. And if you ever had any problem at all, you could come to me.” He sighed. “But I know you might feel awkward about going there. “Goldheart” isn’t exactly a common last name; the other students are going to realize we’re related right away. I doubt they’ll be cruel to you for it, but you might get a lot of attention from it. They might treat you differently at first.” He squeezed Eric’s hand again. “Of course, you’d be able to come to me if anyone _was_ cruel, and I’d support you no matter what happened.” He grinned a little. “But you’ll still be a student. I won’t be giving you special treatment or letting you cause trouble.”

“Oh, because Eric’s such a troublemaker,” Wilford laughed.

Eric laughed too, and thought for a moment.

“Yeah, I m-mean…” he began, “It s-sounds nice. B-But also a little, um, k-kinda daunting. Can I th-think about it?”

“Of course,” Damien said.

“On one condition,” Wilford added.

“W-What?” Eric asked, a little startled.

“If you have a problem at school, with Brian or anyone else, you need to _tell_ us,” Wilford explained.

“We worry about you,” Damien admitted, “Especially now that we know your principal won’t help you, and how Brian threatened you. We want to know whether or not you’re safe.”

Eric thought for a moment before nodding.

“O-Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, “If s-something happens, I’ll t-tell you. I promise.”

“Good man!” Wilford exclaimed, leaning across the table to kiss Eric’s cheek. Eric laughed and turned pink as Wilford pulled away.

“Good,” Damien reiterated, kissing Eric’s other cheek. Eric’s cheeks went from pink to red, and his laugh turned shy and quiet.

When Damien and Wilford got up from the table, Eric came around to them and hugged them, one arm around each.

“Thanks,” he whispered, “For everything.”

“Be careful, kiddo,” Wilford said, hugging back, “You might make Dames cry again.”

Damien merely rolled his eyes as he hugged Eric back, but he couldn’t help but grin when Eric giggled again. He kissed Eric’s forehead, light and gentle.

“No need to thank us, Eric,” he murmured into his hair, “This is what we’re here for.”


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few days, Eric continued going to school. His bruises healed quickly, and no new ones replaced them. Eric told Damien and Wilford that he’d been avoiding Brian as best he could, and that Brian seemed to be avoiding him in turn. He continued to think about going to Goldheart’s, Damien could tell by how carefully he spoke about school, by the questions he sometimes asked Damien. A part of Damien hoped that Eric would decide to go to Goldheart’s – a big part of him. He didn’t want Eric in a school with administration that didn’t care enough to address bullying correctly, and the eternal urge to scoop Eric up and protect him from the world still hadn’t gone away. Eric would be safe in Goldheart’s, protected, happy…but Eric wasn’t a baby. He could make his own decisions, and he’d never gain any confidence if Damien made all his choices for him. Still, Damien couldn’t help but worry.

His worries were proven right when Eric came home from school in tears, blood down the front of his shirt, nose still dripping, one eye bruised and swollen shut, broken glasses clutched in his hand. Damien wasn’t able to repress his gasp of horror.

“Eric, oh honey,” he murmured, going to him in an instant, taking in his injuries, “How did this happen?”

Eric just threw his arms around Damien, buried his face in his shoulder, and started sobbing. Damien could feel blood sticking to his dress shirt, but it was the last thing on his mind as he hugged Eric close, stroking his hair and murmuring comfort. Eric trembled like a leaf in the wind, and Damien held him so tight he was half-afraid he’d shatter him. But Eric didn’t shatter, he only seemed to grow stronger in Damien’s arms. He eventually stopped trembling but stayed clinging tight to Damien, still wept into his shoulder.

“Shhhh, you’re alright, honey,” Damien whispered, “You’re home now, you’re safe…” He pulled away just enough to lay his forehead against Eric’s. Eric looked at him with his unbruised and teary brown eye. “Let’s clean you up, get something cold on your eye, alright?” Eric nodded shakily and let Damien kiss his forehead before the pair headed to the kitchen.

“I g-got blood on y-your shirt,” Eric said when he could finally speak through his tears, “S-Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Damien assured him, voice gentle as he got a towel wet, “You’re more important to me than all of my clothes combined.” Eric was still too upset to laugh, but he managed a tiny grin. Damien ruffled his hair before starting to wipe the blood off his face and neck with the damp towel. “Once we take care of the blood we can both change our shirts, and I’ll get you ice for your eye.”

Eric didn’t answer, just closed his eyes as Damien carefully wiped blood off his face. But after a few long moments, he did open his eyes to speak. Damien could see fear and longing and anxiety all warring in Eric’s expression.

“A-Are you…are y-you mad?” Eric asked. He only barely left “at me” off the end, but Damien could tell he was thinking it.

“I’m mad at Brian, for hurting you,” Damien told him as he worked, “And at your principal, for not preventing this. But I’m not mad at you. This wasn’t your fault.”

Eric teared up all over again, sniffling as Damien got the last of the blood off Eric’s neck. Damien kissed Eric’s forehead before putting the towel in the sink.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you in a clean shirt,” Damien said, gesturing for Eric to follow him as he walked upstairs. He paused when he felt Eric hug him from behind, face in his back. “Eric?” he asked, craning his head back to look at him.

“When I l-lived with my b-birth dad,” Eric began, not looking up from Damien’s back, “My b-big brothers w-would hurt me a-all the time. M-My dad yelled at m-me for crying, a-and for asking f-for his help wh-when I was hurt. He s-said it was my f-fault they hurt me, th-that if I wasn’t s-strong enough to fight back, then I-I, I…I didn’t d-deserve help.”

“Eric…”

“I u-used to come in th-through the back door, a-and hide in my room. I c-cleaned up by m-myself, so no one c-could see me and y-yell at me. A-And when I came home t-today, I…a part o-of me wanted to d-do that again.” Eric started trembling, Damien was sure he was crying again. They both were. “But I-I tried to r-remember before, wh-when you saw K-Kyle bullying me a-and you helped me w-without thinking about it, a-and Wilford comforted m-me.”

Damien waited to see if Eric would say anything more, and when he didn’t, he turned to pull Eric into his arms, scooping him up like he’d always wanted to do. Eric was light, shaking, weeping, and Damien wept too as he held him close. Eric cried into the crook of Damien’s neck as Damien carried him upstairs.

“I’m proud of you,” Damien murmured through tears, “I’m so proud of you for trusting me. I love you so much, Eric.”

“I love you too, Dad,” Eric whimpered.

Damien almost stopped walking in his shock. His heart swelled, burning with love for the boy in his arms, and his eyes filled with tears all over again. Eric realized what he’d said a moment later and gasped, going rigid in Damien’s arms. But Damien turned his head to press kisses into Eric’s hair as he walked upstairs, over and over, until Eric finally relaxed again, knowing he had nothing to fear. Damien didn’t put Eric down until he reached his bedroom door.

“I don’t think I need to help you change,” Damien quipped, voice wet, as he ruffled Eric’s hair, “So go ahead and get a new shirt. I’ll do the same, and I’ll go back downstairs when I’m done.” He moved his hand to Eric’s cheek, thumbing away tears. “Do you think you’ll be able to tell me what happened?”

“Y-Yeah,” Eric answered, managing a smile, “Thank you. F-For everything.”

“Of course, son,” Damien replied. He went to his own room then, but he did see Eric’s cheeks turn pink and his smile get bigger out of the corner of his eye.

When Damien came downstairs in an unbloodied sweater, Eric was already in the family room, sitting on the couch and reading a book for school. He’d put on a long-sleeved t-shirt and grabbed his spare glasses, and looked much better despite how swollen his black eye still was. Damien detoured into the kitchen for an icepack and a towel to wrap around it before approaching Eric. Eric smiled when he looked up and saw him, and took the icepack gratefully.

“So,” Damien said, sitting down on the couch as well with a sigh, “What exactly happened to get you hurt so bad?”

Eric squirmed a little, clearly uncomfortable for reasons other than the cold of the icepack on his eye.

“B-Brian threatened me a-again,” Eric began, “He w-was still mad a-about before, and h-he said he was…he w-was bored.” He shuddered. “A t-teacher saw him h-hitting me and pulled h-him away. I d-don’t know what h-happened after that. I r-ran to catch the b-bus, I didn’t w-want to stay there a-anymore.”

“I understand,” Damien said, “I wouldn’t want to stay, either.” He was going to say more, but his phone started ringing from his pocket. The number was familiar, right on cue. “It’s the school,” he told Eric, “I’m going to speak with them for a bit.” Eric nodded, a little nervous, and Damien ruffled Eric’s hair as he left the couch to go into the kitchen.

He didn’t want Eric to see how angry he was about to be.

“Are you ready to take my son’s bullying seriously now?” Damien asked the moment he answered the call, voice steely.

“S-Sir?” asked an older female voice. Probably the school receptionist.

“I want to speak to Harold Ingle.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s not available right now.”

“Of course he isn’t. Why did I expect him to speak to me like an adult?”

“Mr. Goldheart, I’m calling about–”

“I know exactly why you’re calling. My son came home crying and bruised and covered in blood, thanks to a bully my husband and I had already made Harold aware of. We asked him to address the situation and he actively made it worse. Is Brian going to be punished now?”

“Brian will be given detention for a week, but–”

“That’s _it??”_ Damien started to see red. “Brian bullied my child for weeks and physically attacked him twice and that’s all he’s getting for punishment!? He just gave Eric a black eye and a bloody nose so bad his shirt was soaked, and that’s _after_ the first bloody nose and the bruise on his jaw! I will not consider Eric safe in your school until Brian is suspended at the very least. This is unacceptable.”

“Well, sir, Eric will need to come into the office tomorrow morning so we can get his side of the story.”

“What on earth are you talking about!? Eric told me a teacher pulled them apart, don’t you know what happened??”

“The teacher saw Brian and Eric fighting, yes, but Brian said he was acting in self-defense. Our school does have a no-tolerance policy, sir.”

Damien thought he was going to pop a blood vessel.

“You honestly think that Eric attacked Brian!?”

“We haven’t made any decisions yet, sir. Once we hear Eric’s side, we will decide what to do.”

“Are you telling me that you’re going to punish _Eric_ for this!?” Damien knew he was getting louder, but he couldn’t bring himself to quiet down. “Do you have any idea how asinine that is?? To punish a child because another child attacked them!? You can ask any of Eric’s teachers, he’s perfectly well-behaved. You have history on file, you know _exactly_ how anxious and timid he is. For god’s sake, Brian’s a sport star and Eric’s a double amputee!! Brian told you that _Eric_ of all people attacked him and you _believed_ him!?”

“Sir–”

“Eric will _not_ be going into the office tomorrow. We’ll see if he comes into school at all. I’ll be spending tonight helping Eric heal from the _black eye_ and _bloody nose_ that Brian gave him, and talking to my husband about whether or not we want to take legal action.”

Damien hung up, still shaking. He put his hands on the kitchen table and leaned into it with a sigh. When he looked up to return to Eric, he was already standing just at the entrance of the kitchen, anxiety and concern and fear written on his face. Damien realized that his threat of legal action was empty one; he couldn’t put Eric through a mess like that, the poor boy wouldn’t be able to take it.

“I’m sorry I got so loud,” Damien sighed. The adrenaline and rage were wearing off, and he just felt drained. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“A-Are they really g-gonna punish me?” Eric asked, voice small. Damien remembered the conversation they’d had not twenty minutes ago, and his heart broke right there.

“They won’t if they know what’s good for them,” Damien said, approaching Eric to hug him. “Or if they have a heart at all.” Eric accepted the hug as Damien continued. “I don’t care what they or their ridiculous policies say, this was _not_ your fault. You don’t deserve to be punished for getting hurt.” He kissed the top of Eric’s head. “What you _do_ deserve is good rest of the day. What do you want to do tonight? We can go to a movie, or to a restaurant you like, whatever you want. Whatever will help you feel better.”

Eric thought for a moment.

“C-Can we just stay h-here? And w-watch a movie on TV, o-or something…”

“Of course. What do you want for dinner?”

“Um…pizza? P-Please?”

“Hmm, that’s a tall order,” Damien mused, a joking lilt to his voice. Eric giggled and looked up at him.

“Pretty please?” he asked, grinning big.

Even if Damien hadn’t already agreed to give Eric whatever he wanted, he would’ve been powerless to deny his sweet, sunny smile.

“Alright, you twisted my arm,” Damien laughed. He kissed Eric on the head again and let him go. “Wilford won’t be home for another hour, so I’ll wait until later to order. In the meantime, let’s find a movie. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Eric answered, still smiling, “Really good.”

The pair were cuddled together on the couch, most of the way through a rom-com Eric found, when Wilford got home. By then, Damien had already told Wilford everything via text so he wouldn’t be too angry upon getting home. Still, he frowned sadly when he came into the family and saw Eric’s eye.

“Hey kiddo,” Wilford greeted him, leaning down to kiss his cheek before sitting next to him, opposite Damien. “You poor thing. Does it hurt?”

“A l-little,” Eric admitted. The icepack and the now damp, lukewarm towel it was wrapped in were sitting on the coffee table. “B-But not as b-bad as before.”

“I asked him if he wanted more ice, but he said he was fine,” Damien put in, “You tell us if you want more,” he added to Eric.

“I will,” Eric said. He smiled. “I’m o-okay, I promise.”

“Good,” Wilford said, kissing Eric’s cheek again, making him giggle.

The doorbell rang not long after, and Damien got up to get the pizza he’d ordered for the three of them. When he returned, Eric was snuggled against Wilford’s side, and Wilford had one arm around him as they watched the tail-end of the movie. Damien was a little jealous, but mostly just happy that Eric and Wilford were enjoying each other’s company. They ate pizza on the couch instead of the kitchen and started another movie. Eventually, Eric looked between Damien and Wilford like he wanted to say something.

“What’s up, kid?” Wilford asked, noticing. Damien looked away from the movie to Eric. Eric had wrapped himself in a blanket at some point, but he didn’t shrink into it as both Damien and Wilford’s eyes trained on him.

“I th-think…” He took a breath, paused, and settled himself. “I think…I-I wanna go to Goldheart’s. C-Can I?”

Damien smiled and kissed Eric’s cheek as Wilford did the same on Eric’s other side. Eric squeaked and flushed red, but still didn’t hide, and giggled as the pair pulled away.

“Of course you can,” Damien told him, “I’ll start the process of withdrawing you tomorrow, and then we can get you enrolled in Goldheart’s.”

“And you’re staying home,” Wilford insisted, “There’s no way you’re going back to class after what happened today.”

“O-Okay,” Eric said, still smiling. “Thank you guys.”

“You’re _extremely_ welcome!” Wilford exclaimed, kissing Eric’s cheek again. Eric laughed, and so did Damien.

Damien had never felt so warm, so peaceful, so good at heart.

By the end of the second movie, Eric was nodding off, sinking deeper into Wilford’s side and into the blanket he was wrapped in. Damien had to unwrap him as he mumbled in protest and curled up tighter.

“It’s time for bed, love,” Damien told him, “You have much nicer blankets on your bed.”

Eric just whined.

“Keep sleeping, kiddo, I’ll take you to bed,” Wilford assured him.

When Eric was sufficiently unwrapped, Wilford scooped him up to carry him to bed. Before he left, Damien got up as well to pet Eric’s hair and kiss him goodnight.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“’Night,” Eric mumbled, hardly awake.

“Love you, Eric,” Wilford told him, nuzzling his hair as he carried Eric out of the room.

“Love you too, Pops,” Eric whispered, barely a breath.

Wilford stopped dead in his tracks. He at Damien, astonished. He looked down at Eric, who was already asleep. He looked back at Damien. His face broke into an exuberant grin.

“He just–!” he began, almost too loud.

“Gush to me later,” Damien said, hushed but smiling just as hard as Wilford, “You’re going to wake him.”

“Right, right,” Wilford whispered, scurrying off to put Eric to bed. Damien chucked to himself as he left.

When Wilford returned a couple minutes later, his excitement only seemed to have grown.

“Did you hear that??” he exclaimed, beaming, “He called me Pops! He was half-asleep but I know he meant it!!” Wilford grabbed Damien and lifted him off the ground in a hug. Normally Damien would protest, but he was too happy for Wilford to be annoyed.

“He definitely did,” Damien laughed, “He loves you, Wil, he truly does.”

“Yeah,” Wilford replied, starry-eyed, “Yeah, he does.” He put Damien down. “And he loves you, too.”

“I know,” Damien said cheekily, “He called me “Dad” before you got home.”

“What!?” Wilford cried. He pouted. “I thought I was first!”

“Well, at least Eric didn’t panic after he said it to you,” Damien pointed out, “He froze up when he realized what he’d called me, I had to soothe him afterwards.”

“Oh, but still!” Wilford continued, the pout leaving his face as quickly as it came, “He sees us as his parents! He trusts us! He was so comfortable with us tonight.” Wilford’s eyes glimmered with joy. “He leaned up against me and never even flinched when I got loud at the movies. And after the day he had, we…we got to make him so happy.” Wilford’s eyes glimmered with a bit more than joy. “I love that boy so much, Damien. I’m so fucking glad he wants to go to Goldheart’s, if he ever got hurt again I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I know,” Damien murmured, touching Wilford’s cheek, “I feel the same. Things are going to get better for him from now on, better for all of us.” Damien almost startled to feel something wet and warm under his fingers on Wilford’s cheek. “Wil, are you crying?”

“No!” Wilford exclaimed, offended, “You’re the one who cries at everything!!” Tears escaped his other eye, where there was nothing to hide them.

“Of course, darling,” Damien chuckled, cupping both of Wilford’s cheeks. He kissed Wilford before he could say anything more, and smiled against Wilford’s lips when he felt his arms wind around him. When Damien ended the kiss, Wilford’s eyes were still wet.

“We’re a family,” Wilford gasped, like it only just occurred to him.

“We always were,” Damien told him, pressing his forehead to Wilford’s, “It just took us a while to figure it out.”

They stayed close like that for a long minute, both thinking, both absorbing the other’s affection.

“Say, Dames, speaking of family…”

“Hm?”

“If Eric’s your kid, and he goes to Goldheart’s, ya think he can get a family discount?”

_“Wil!”_

“It’s a fair question!!”

“You’re hopeless, Wil.”

“But you love me anyway!”

“I do. I’m…happy you’re a part of my family.”

“Same to you, darling.”

~~~

“Bye all, I’ll see you tonight!” Wilford calls as he grabs his car keys, leaving a kiss for Damien on his path out the door. “Love you, Dames!”

“Love you too, Wil,” Damien replies after he kisses him back, “Don’t get home too late. It’s the first day of school, we should do something special tonight.”

“True, true!” Wilford says, continuing his path out of the house by passing Eric and kissing his cheek, “Have a good day, champ! Love you!”

“Love you too, Pops,” Eric says from the kitchen table where he’s finishing breakfast, cheeks a little pink, “But y-you don’t have to do anything special for me!” Eric’s fifteen now, a little taller, a little more confident, a lot happier. He’s about to start his second year at Goldheart’s, but it’ll be his first full year after he started in the middle of the previous academic year. He’s nervous, of course, but the excitement overpowers his nerves. He still struggles with anxiety and PTSD, but he’s miles away from the scared little boy in foster care he used to be.

“Of course we do,” Damien says, walking to Eric and ruffling his hair as Wilford rushes out the door, “It’s the first day of your first full year at Goldheart’s; that’s worth celebrating, isn’t it?”

“I-I guess so,” Eric admits, blushing just a little. Excess attention still pings his internal alarm system, but it beeps rather than blares, and it’s easy for Eric to ignore now. “Pizza and TV movies, right?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Damien says, “But that’s what we always do. We can change it up if you’d like.”

“No, I like doing it that way,” Eric insists, “It’s our, um, tradition!”

“True enough.” Damien moves his hand from Eric’s hair to his shoulder, squeezing gently before heading to the coat closet. “You almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, one sec!” Eric gets up and takes his dishes to the sink, speed-walking but not running.

“How are your legs?” Damien asks, “Are the new prosthetics still feeling good?”

“Yeah!” Eric says, tapping his already-sneakered foot on the ground for emphasis, “I’m still getting used to them, though. I w-won’t be running around or anything today.”

“Good, running in the halls isn’t allowed,” Damien replies with a grin.

Eric laughs as he gets his own coat, and Damien still hasn’t gotten tired of the sound of Eric’s happiness. He doubts he ever will.

The drive to Goldheart’s School for Troubled Children is short, and Damien pulls up to the drop-off point for Eric. He’ll drive to his own parking spot in a minute, and go inside to start preparing for the day. It’s still early, and most students haven’t arrived yet, but there’s a small group of students waiting for the day to start inside the front lobby. The sight makes Eric instinctually nervous, but he knows he has nothing to worry about here.

“You all set?” Damien asks as Eric opens the passenger seat car door to get out.

“Yep. Wait…” Eric says. He leans over to hug Damien goodbye. “Now I am!”

“Good,” Damien says, voice soft as he hugs Eric back. “I’m proud of you, Eric.”

“I know, Dad,” Eric murmurs gently, like he’s trying to keep Damien from crying, “I love you, I’ll see you, um, well, probably at school at some point. But I’ll t-talk to you later!”

“I love you too,” Damien tells him, kissing his forehead, “Have a good day, hon.”

“You too!” Eric says as he gets out of the car. He gives one more wave once he’s on the sidewalk. “Bye!” He shuts the door and walks across the courtyard, up the steps, and into the lobby of the building without so much as a nervous glance back.

Damien’s heart swells with pride. He has a good feeling about this year, a good feeling about how his son will do. Eric’s already grown so much since he and Wilford first met him, has already gained so much confidence and blossomed into a happy teenager. He still has his demons, of course; he still has his therapist, he still has his triggers. He probably always will. But none of that is stopping Eric from becoming a bright young man with a promising life ahead of him.

Oh, shoot, Damien told himself he wouldn’t cry today.

Fortunately, he’s able to park without incident, and by the time he gets to his office, his tears are dried. When he steps inside, he truly becomes Principal Goldheart; stone-faced, authoritative, intimidating to even the roughest students. He can spot bad behavior a mile away and see through a lie being told the next room over. When he occasionally leaves his office and traverses the school for one reason or another, the students quiet their chatter and stare with wide eyes as he passes. But if they look closely, they’ll be able to see the way his eyes crinkle when he holds back a smile at the exaggerated reactions from students he passes, they’ll be able to see how much teachers enjoy speaking to him, they’ll be able to see how he goes easy on the particularly sensitive students.

In fact, if they look _very_ closely, they just might catch Principal Goldheart’s lips quirk into the slightest smile when he meets eyes with Eric Goldheart in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it! Please consider letting me know in the comments, I really love hearing from you guys :D
> 
> Also, feel free to ask me more about this AU at my Tumblr, juju-on-that-yeet! I'm considering making a sideblog for it, but we'll see :p
> 
> Speaking of stuff we'll see, the next story will be about Bing and the Googles! Hopefully it'll be done for me to post in a week, but I won't make any promises ^^"


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